


stop making a fool of me; I'm everything that a flower is

by constanted



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Baking, Caduceus Clay is Pretty, Crushes, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode 99, Recovery, gift giving as a love language, guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted
Summary: Caduceus makes a cake. Fjord helps. A portrait is drawn.(or: local cleric has it bad.)
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Comments: 23
Kudos: 315





	stop making a fool of me; I'm everything that a flower is

**Author's Note:**

> i just think they're neat

Caduceus is alright at getting people to do things for him, and, well. He's aware that he can be a little bit intimidating. He doesn't like to use those skills too much, thinks they'll make an ass out of him, but, well. Essek can handle it. Essek can also handle a grocery run.

He teleports away a bit nervously, in spite of only having only interacted with Caduceus (and a glowering Yasha in the corner) the whole time he was on the ship. Yasha departs with a nod and a soft grin, which Caduceus mirrors, and which he turns into a hug, because he and Yasha both enjoy physical contact more than they'd care to admit. It is a compatible need that the two of them have, which is, Caduceus suspects, a part of why she is such a good friend to him.

He sets a small fire in the oven, and gets to work. Last time, he'd gotten too far ahead of himself early on--mixing ingredients all willy-nilly, like he was in some kind of rush. Ridiculous. Recalling a conversation with Reani, he starts with the flour, cream of tartar, and salt, and--

"Attempting another cake?" Fjord asks. Caduceus feels his ears perk up, and, at the awareness of his ears perking up, his ears flushing. Fjord is in the doorway, armor off and wearing something clearly grabbed off of the communal pile of clothing for Days When Nothing Is Expected To Happen: a pair of Beau’s pants that barely reach his knees, and one of his own tunics. His hair is tied back, a bit having fallen loose from its tiny bun and into Fjord’s face, which is ridiculously charming in a way that Caduceus does not enjoy having feelings about. 

But Fjord asked a question. About the cake. “Lemon and lavender,” he says, and then, “I thought up a recipe, and I have an ingredient source, now.”

Fjord raises his eyebrows, “Cleric magic?”

“Essek.”

“Even more impressive. Not that—cleric magic would be equally impressive; She lets you do some crazy shit, but, er. Wow.”

“I try my best,” Caduceus smiles, looks at the bowls before him. “Um. Do you—could you help with the lemon peel? Just, um—yeah, okay, take that knife, the paring knife, and cut the peel off, then chop the peel up as small as you can get it. Avoid the white stuff.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Fjord says, and Caduceus mutters a quick, “Now, let’s not get ourselves confused, Captain.” And Fjord smiles back, “I’m captain of the ship, you’re captain of the kitchen. Makes sense to me.” He takes the knife, and does as told, though. Caduceus handles the lavender and vanilla, chops it up finely and places it with the sugar, mixes it up as best he can. 

Fjord is nearly done with the zest, so Caduceus says, “When you’re done—“

And Fjord’s hand slips, and. Wow. Great. “Ow, shit!”

“Oh, Goddess, Fjord, I’m _so_ sorry, um,” and that’s a _lot_ of blood from one finger, " _Heal_ , please, um, wow,” and the magic takes, thank goodness, and the wound seals, and there’s no blood on the lemon zest. But there’s blood, and it’s on wood, and Fjord’s blood is on so much, now, and it was on the deck, and it was on Caduceus’ shirt, because he was _dead_ , and he’s back, now, sure, but he was _dead_ , and, really, how _stupid_ Caduceus had been for not setting up the Guardian on that first night, really, it’s Caduceus’—

“My fault. My fault, not, _shit_ , those knives are sharp.”

“Jester and I bought a whetstone in Nicodranis and I’ve found using it cathartic, these past few days. Maybe too cathartic? Clearly, I mean, wow. Um. Okay, let’s clean… that up. Wow. And it’s not your fault at all. Just, uh. Again. Way too much whetstone use. My bad, really. And. You’re good at using swords, so I maybe should’ve given you a non-blade job. Because you’re just. Really, very good at battling with them, so giving them to you in a non-battle context is just asking for disaster. Not that you’re—bad. At non-battle things. You’re very good. At a lot of things, just—does it still hurt?”

“I’m, ah, I’m good. Are you—“

“Fine. Just, um. Okay, can you mix this butter and these eggs? I’ll—um. Finish the lemons, and then we can add them to the sugar, and then we’ll put all of that together. And there’s nothing else super—bloodshed-able—left? After this. So. We’re good.”

The lemon zest is easy to finish, and the mixing process goes well. Fjord’s managed to get the mixture smooth and sort of resembling the sea, in an odd way—it has waves and peaks and what-have-you. Very nice. “Is this alright?”

“It’s—you’re doing great. Stay on that, yeah, a few more minutes.” And Caduceus starts squeezing out lemon juice and pouring out buttermilk into the bowl with the flour, ends up with flour on his face. Which is fine.

Fjord is humming. Caduceus hasn’t heard the song—of course, he hasn’t heard _most_ songs, but, well. The point stands. It’s upbeat, bouncy. Sounds like a lot of the shanties that Orly plays that Fjord always taps his feet along to. When Caduceus makes eye contact, he stops, hands the bowl over. Caduceus takes the bowl, but says, “What’s that one about?”

“Oh, er. Drinking. And death. Dead sailors. And birds, so that’s—that’s two of three, for your interests. Dead people and nature things.”

“Well. I prefer alive sailors.”

Fjord blinks, a second. Says, “Oh, well. Yes. I suppose that’s fair. Um. Thank you, by the way. For… bringing me back, and everything—after it. Vomit and all. Before it, too; Caleb said you worked very hard.”

“Well,” Caduceus says, “I did what I was supposed to do.” And a fair bit more, and not in a good way. But Fjord doesn’t need to know about _that_. It’s embarrassing enough that Caleb noticed, and maybe embarrassing isn’t the right word. Caduceus just feels terribly exposed, with other people having noticed him. He could barely pay attention to himself. Felt detached, in the wrong kind of way. Felt like he was dying with Fjord, but that’s terribly selfish, too, because Caduceus was _barely even hurt_ , and Fjord actually died.

“You didn’t have to do… any of that. But you did. So. Thanks. Don’t downplay it; you removed that… thing. From my person. It was painful enough to remove the _symbol_ of it from my person, and that wasn’t even inside of my body. That was just a sword. And, also? You literally-actually brought me back to life. So.”

“Jester’s brought me and Veth and Orly back. It’s—“

“Caduceus.”

Caduceus pours the batter into a pan and puts that pan into the oven. Gets the fire burning a bit brighter, a bit hotter. “We should leave before we overheat. Should be done in… soon? An hour, ish. I think. That’s what worked last time.”

So they leave. Fjord grabs a sprig of lavender off the counter, tucks it behind Caduceus’ ear. Takes the sleeve of his shirt, wipes the flour off of Caduceus’ cheek. Caduceus feels his ears getting warm again, and wants to scream at himself. “You’re very good at cleric-ing, is my point. I can’t do shit like that. And the orb thing—that was _insane_.”

“It was risky, is what it was. And necessary. And painful. I shouldn’t have hurt you, that just—“

“You were hurt, too.”

“Not anywhere nearly as badly.”

“Take the compliment.”

They emerge onto the deck. The smell and brightness of it all is becoming less shocking. Jester is drawing in a rush as Beau and Veth and Yasha pose dramatically, ridiculously, and Caleb is at the wheel, Frumpkin perched on his shoulder. He looks very noble. Frumpkin looks nobler, of course.

Fjord sits up on the bulkhead, makes direct eye contact with Caduceus. The wind blows the little bit of hair in his face back. And that beard is coming in—it looks good. Little flecks of gray in the black; he looks distinguished.

Fjord is talking, and Caduceus has not been paying attention.

“—look very properly Wildmother-y, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” and because it’s useless to pretend, “What? Sorry, um.”

“I was just—the flowers. They suit your whole vibe.”

“What’s my _whole vibe_?”

“Just—one with. The wind. And nature. And stuff. I’m just—bullshitting, really. But. Er. You get my point. You look… right.”

Caduceus smiles. Fjord smiles back. His brain files for _what-does-that-mean_ and lands on a very confused noise, which translates out-loud to “Thanks? You have a very nice. Vibe, as well. I think. In my opinion. You’re very. Handsome and captain-y. Being out here suits you, I think. Even if—well. There’s all of the horrifying stuff, you… you look like you’re at ease, here. And that’s just great.”

“I’m gonna go, er. Scare the shit out of Beau. If you don’t—“

“Consider yourself _guided_ ,” Caduceus says, taps Fjord on the forehead. Fjord hops down, starts trying to sneak toward the girls.

He keeps looking at the ocean, but smiles when he hears the noise of Beau’s shriek and “Fuck you!” and Jester’s giggle and Veth’s swearing and—well. The implication of Yasha smiling. She’d smile, Caduceus thinks. She’s the type to smile at this sort of thing.

But he looks at the ocean. Terrifying and full of things he doesn’t understand. Beautiful and his to serve. Hers, as everything is. He thinks of that lighthouse in Nicodranis, wonders if Fjord saw it as a younger man and thought something of it; maybe in the last ten years, they looked at the same sort of symbol and found some kind of comfort at the same time.

That’s wishful thinking, of course. Caduceus isn’t big on wishes—they lack faith.

But, still. Seems like one of Jester’s wordier books, and—Caduceus feels the urge, at _that_ particular thought, to throw himself overboard. This boat’ll sink, with everyone having too many feelings about each other, he shouldn’t be contributing.

Ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. There’s a breeze that wraps around him, then, blows the lavender sprig out from behind Caduceus’ ear, into the wind. He spins around to try and catch it, but—it’s already in Yasha’s hand.

Fjord says “Oh, that’s Cad’s,” and Yasha hands the sprig back to him. Caduceus’ stomach twists with something close to joy.

(Ridiculous. He’s ridiculous.)

And Fjord tucks the flower back behind his ear, and Jester insists on drawing _him,_ now, and Caduceus says sure, because he can’t say no to her, and—

Fjord says, “The thing should be done, I think?” just as Jester is working on shading. Caduceus is half asleep.

“Fjoooord, let Caduceus stay here; he looks so pretty and I wanna get the colors right!”

Yasha adds, “Yes, he does look pretty. Right, Fjord?” because Yasha is too much.

“ _Super_ pretty,” Beau forces out, and elbows Fjord.

“What are we doing?” Veth asks.

“He looks quite beautiful, yes. Er, Cad, does it—“

Caduceus nods, even though his face is absolutely pink and thus ruining Jester’s color-palette right now. “Use an ice spell? Or something to cool it. And then it should be good to cut like a loaf of bread. I trust you to be reasonable.”

“Terrible decision, really.”

“Take the compliment.” Fjord rolls his eyes and walks off.

Yasha waggles her eyebrows, and Beau snorts, says, “You two are fucking ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous _how_ , Beau? Am I like—some kind of _anchor_ that—“

“Eat shit and die.”

“We’ll be eating cake in a moment, actually. And we’re running out of diamonds, so I’d prefer to—“

“I think it’s sweet,” Jester hums, “Caduceus, can you twitch your left ear ba— _another cake_?”

“This one should’ve turned out better, I, um—I got fresh ingredients from a source that’ll remain, um. Incognito. Anonymous?”

“Anonymous,” Beau says, and nods.

“Yeah, anonymous. But, um, Bell used to like it when I made lavender bread, so it’s, like—kinda going off of that?”

“Oh my _gosh!”_

Fjord brings out the cake, topped with another sprig and some of the lemon zest that was left over, and it’s lovely, really. “You do the honors with the knife,” Fjord says, and Caduceus listens, cuts it into pieces, and—well.

It’s nice, this moment. A cake and friends and warmth, and nobody’s dead. Nobody’s dying, here, not today. There is blood on the cutting board, yes. But nobody’s dead, and there’s cake. 

And that’s beautiful, Caduceus thinks, as Fjord wraps an arm around his side while telling a story that’s far too confusing, Veth doubling over in laughter and Frumpkin stalking over to steal from Beau’s plate. It’s beautiful enough to mean something.

**Author's Note:**

> comment! kudo! etc!  
> tumblr @yahooanswer


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